


Breathless

by barenziah



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barenziah/pseuds/barenziah
Summary: Jesse McCree has fallen in love, slowly and gently, his romantic feelings growing day by day, like flowers about to bloom.Said flowers turn from a dream to a nightmare as it becomes apparent that he has Hanahaki, a disease that stems from unrequited love and causes flowers to grow in the lungs of the affected victim.





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> “As it has been said:  
> Love and a cough  
> cannot be concealed.  
> Even a small cough.  
> Even a small love.”
> 
>  
> 
> ― Anne Sexton

It began almost gently, with a single flower petal. It might have been beautiful, poetic even, if said petal hadn’t come from his lungs. He glared at it, tiny and blue, knowing it would spell disaster for him. Hanahaki was fatal if left untreated, but since the surgery to cure it meant losing his feelings for the object of his affections completely, was it even really a choice?

Jesse was not one to let people in easily. When he was a kid, he entered a lot of bad relationships, made a lot of mistakes, was desperate for somebody to love him. After a lot of wrong turns and an act of divine intervention, he finally found what he was looking for: a purpose, a family, a place to belong. A puzzle that his edges could fit neatly inside.

But after the Swiss Base explosion, his world came crumbling down. He’d lost the family that he was looking for, and even though that family had now been called back together, things would never be the same again. Similar to a broken mug--you can glue all of the pieces back together and love it the same, but there will always be cracks throughout its entirety.

After that incident and the resulting emotional catastrophe that had accompanied it, he had vowed to never let anyone get too close again.

What he hadn’t counted on, however, was meeting Hanzo Shimada. Graceful, strong, incredible, beautiful, witty. Hanzo was easy to love. Too easy. Infuriatingly, devastatingly, hopelessly easy. Jesse fell too fast, too hard, too softly to notice. He was in deep before he even realized it. Sitting in the orange glow of the sunset one lazy summer evening with a lit cigarillo in his hand, Jesse realized he never stood a chance.

His condition was easy to ignore, at first. He attended meetings, target practice, went on missions. He willed himself not to think of Hanzo. Almost a full week passed by before the object of his affections passed by him in the hall and he coughed up another one of those blasted petals. 

“McCree?” he heard a worried voice call his name.

Jesse looked up.

Lena walked over, her face showing her concern. When she got to him, she pulled a flower petal off of his bottom lip. Her eyes closed as she sighed pitifully. “It’s Hanahaki.”

Coughing weakly one last time, Jesse put his hands up. “It ain’t that bad, really.”

Lena put her hands on her hips, her silence a clear indication that she did not believe him.

"It's just one petal, it's nothing. It'll go away. Probably."

“Nope! No excuses. Come on, Angela's on shift tonight. She’ll want to hear about this right away.” She grabbed his arm and practically dragged him to the med bay. After she checked him in and informed the nurse of his condition, she found Jesse where she left him in the waiting room, bid him a cheery goodnight, and strolled off.

When the cowboy was called in to the medbay from the waiting room, he stood up and traipsed in, steps small and unhurried. He made his way across the wide room to where a nurse was standing, looking expectantly in his direction. They gestured for him to follow them and led the cowboy to an empty corner of the room, where they indicated a bed for him to sit on.

After taking his vitals, the nurse wrote with a stylus on a hologram board, where their handwriting was then read by the program and translated into medical notes. “All right,” they said, pulling their fingers together, diagonally opposed until they slowly met. Following their fingers, the program window became smaller and smaller until it disappeared.

A polite smile appeared on the nurse’s face. “Dr. Zeigler will be in to see you in just a moment.”

Jesse tipped his hat. “Thank you kindly.”

“Jesse,” Angela said slowly, looking down at the holo-board that contained his file, “you do realize that this disorder is fatal if left untreated.”

“Spare me the lecture, Ang.”

He knew he shouldn’t allow himself to inject that much venom into his tone, but he was on edge that evening.

The doctor clasped her hands together, effectively closing his medical file before crossing her arms and pausing for a few seconds before continuing. “Why are you doing this? Why did you not seek me out before it got worse? Whenever you have an episode, it puts you in serious pain that you do not need to be in.”

“Well, ‘cause maybe I don’t want it cured.”

Her jaw all but dropped at his flippant words. “This isn’t a game. What are you trying to accomplish here? Do you think this is some Shakespearean tragedy? We’re talking about _your life_ ”

“I know that! And I ain’t doing this for attention. He don’t gotta love me back. That ain’t why I love him. I love him for me, selfishly, by myself. And I’m fine with that. Hanzo is the best god damn thing I’ve ever witnessed, and I count myself lucky that he was put on this earth with a sinner like me.”

Angela shot him a weathered look. “I’m not trying to preach to you, Jesse, I’m just worried. This surgery will save your life. I’m only trying to look out for you.”

He looked back at her. Weary lines littered her face, showing how exhausted she really was. He often felt the same tiredness settled deep in his bones, could drown it out if he focused, but all the same, it was always there. He understood the unspoken sentiment, the worry of losing another when they’ve already lost so much.

A flash of white hot anger shot through Jesse’s veins. Hanahaki wasn’t the way he imagined he’d go, but like hell was he going to let anyone take away his feelings, no matter how deadly they were.

“Now look here, I ain’t like everybody else. As a kid I was on the streets surrounded by people who didn’t care a lick about me. I was expendable. I didn’t think I’d make is as long as I have. And when Blackwatch rescued me and got me away from all of that, I finally, _finally_ had everything I wished for. I had a family. And you know what?”

Angela turned around, her back to him. Jesse didn't see that her fingernails were digging into her palm.

“You know what happened to all’a that? It was ripped away from me. It’s _gone_ , Angie. And yeah, some of it was put back together, but you and I and everyone around us all know that it’s never gonna be the same again, and that the scars ain’t gonna heal.”

The doctor sighed heavily. “If you will not get the surgery, Jesse, then you must tell him about your feelings. His answer will affect your prognosis and hopefully save your life."

"That's exactly why i don't _wanna_ tell him! You can't force anybody into loving you and if I tell him I've got this disease because of my feelings for him then he'll think I’m tryina pressure him into saying yes to me. Like hell am I gonna weigh him down like that.

“I'll go through hell and back to make sure he never feels obligated to avoid breakin’ my heart. If I die from this, it won't be because of him, It'll be because of me. I accept responsibility for myself. Don't put any of this on him. It’ll just end up weighin’ him down."

Jesse paused, pointing to the heavy doors of the med bay. “That man out there is my home. He’s the closest thing that I can ever get to redemption.”

Angela turned back again to look at him, that same sickening look of pity in her eyes that he was starting to get tired of seeing. Jesse put up a hand, signaling for her to stop. “No, I know what I did. I played a part in everything, did a lotta stuff wrong. I’ll be damned if I let myself get rid of that. And if Hanzo will be the death of me--”

“Jesse--”

“--Then so be it.”

Angela looked down, and he could see the bags under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. This type of work had been taking a toll on her for far too long. She stayed quiet, refusing to argue anymore, and Jesse felt lost. He had spent so long fighting that he didn't know what to do when it was over. She put on a placating smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“He must be someone special if you’re willing to die for him.”

“I ain’t doin’ it for him. I’m doin’ it for me.”

With those words, the cowboy stormed out.

It didn't take long for the news to spread to other Overwatch members. Rumors slowly trickled through the base, permeating the air like a toxin. Whispers asking who made themself known to Jesse, who did his best to ignore it. People sticking their noses where they don’t belong put him on edge. He didn’t want to hear their advice. They didn’t understand.

“You should go for it, luv! What have you got to lose?” Lena called out from where she sat upon the table, kicking her legs back and forth.

“Yeah! Come on, Eastwood, whoever they are, they’d be lucky to have you." Lucio patted him on the back encouragingly.

Jesse plastered a fake smile on his face and waved at them. Inside, he wished for something to distract himself from the constant dull ache in his chest. Despite their hopes that their words would encourage him, all they were doing was reminding him of something he would never have.

Lena granted him a sad smile, her dark eyes telling him she knew his pain. He shrugged back nonchalantly, but couldn't stand the pity he saw there. He wanted all of this to be over. This was his to keep to himself. He didn't want anyone to intrude upon his cloistered love.

He didn't want to see that look anymore. It made him feel weak, dependent, stupid. It felt like a preemptive rejection for something he had never asked for. It felt like everyone needed to mind their own damn business.

The next time he coughed up a petal was when he met up with Hanzo for their semi-regular habit of drinking while staring up at the stars. The other looked at the glittering sky with eyes so bright, so full of wonder, so peaceful and soft, that Jesse thought his heart might burst. Instead, he thought about what it’d be like to kiss that face, and consequently how stupid it was to hope for that. He felt a piercing pain in his chest as he coughed into his hand and stared daggers at the blue cluster in his palm.

“Jesse?” The cowboy turned his head to see the other looking concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he lied, closing his fist. “I’m fine.

The dragon smirked, quirking an eyebrow. “For a moment there, I wondered if your bad habits were catching up to you.

“You may be right about that,” Jesse said, glancing forlornly at the bottle of whiskey in hand before taking another drink. “You could be right.”

They sat in silence for a long while, drinking every so often. A thought made itself known in his mind and, although he tried his best to dismiss it, it stuck like glue. It buzzed, energetic and crackling, until he felt the words form upon his lips. “Have you ever fallen in love with anybody? Like really fallen in love. I’m talking about heart-melting, sappy shit. The real kind.”

Hanzo furrowed his brow, glanced up at the vast and endless sea of stars as he paused, searching for an answer. Jesse felt the urge to reach out and touch his hand, and for a second, he almost did. But then Hanzo turned back to him, those beautiful brown eyes staring back into his, making him freeze.

“No. I have not,” he answered forlornly. Whether his tone meant he was thinking back on an ex-lover who had wounded him or he was actually telling the truth, Jesse could not tell. Hanzo looked away.

Jesse felt a pull on his heartstrings and almost said, “I could change that, if you’d let me,” but his courage failed and silence fell heavy over the moment shared between them.

The cowboy’s chest began to ache at the thought of Hanzo never having someone to treat him right, never feeling the warmth that he feels now, never having someone that feels like /home/. He coughed hard and the other looked back at him sternly.

“I am sure Mercy has already told you, but those things,” he pointed at the cigarillo Jesse had had between his teeth, “are terrible for your health. You should consider quitting.”

Jesse crushed the petal in his palm. “Yeah. I know.” He stared at the sky that was just beginning to glow pink and orange, discomfort settling in his gut and mixing with the nausea he already felt. He stood up and walked as calmly as he could, resisting the urge to cough until he was out of eyesight. Only then did he allow himself to run to the nearest trash can and cough out some more petals. He realized with a spike of fear that they were increasing in number already. Soon, they would grow in size and multitude and he’d suffocate because of a bouquet growing in his lungs.

Luckily, there was no one around to see it this time. He wiped the spit from his mouth and strolled off, relief flooding his veins.

The next day, Jesse went to the training room to start his day off right, and found someone else already there. Surprising, seeing how early in the morning it was. Nevertheless, he walked over to greet the dark-haired figure reaching back to grab an arrow from the quiver on their back. “Howdy. Getting started real early, ain’tcha?”

Hanzo did not answer, just nocked an arrow to the bowstring and fired after a moment’s pause. Jesse whistled one note, feeling the tension thick in the air. After a few seconds, a voice sharply cut through said tension. “There is a rumor going around that you are ill. Do not pretend there is nothing going on. No one else will bring up the subject it seems, but I will not be swayed just because you are afraid of burdening anyone.”

“I ain’t afraid of nothing,” Jesse says defensively. “Just won’t make a difference, that’s all.”

Hanzo’s gaze hardened, eyebrows furrowing as those piercing, brown, beautiful eyes locked onto the target. “Who is it?”

“Don’t matter none.”

After an awkward pause, the two began to chat pleasantly, obviously trying to keep their minds off of Jesse’s ailment, which he was immensely grateful for. It seemed like all anyone wanted to talk to him about was his disease, and he was starting to get real damn tired of it. Maybe, he thought as he took a swig from his canteen, this conversation would finally take his mind off of it all.

It was working, up until Hanzo mentioned a best friend he used to have, explaining in great detail all of their misadventures as children and how he wished he knew where that best friend was. Jesse never thought of himself as a jealous man, but something twisted in his gut, sharp and prodding, and he coughed two petals into his hand. 

Jesse turned to run, but didn’t get very far before he choked, falling to his knees, heart pounding. Don’t let him see, don’t let him see. 

Hanzo barked a laugh. “Did you drink too fast, gunslinger?” 

A warm hand on his shoulder was the catalyst to his coughing fit, the force of which strong enough to make him feel as though he would vomit. Instead, a curtain of forget-me-nots lay spread out beneath him, the smoking gun tossed directly into the hands of the one person he never wanted to find out. 

Jesse felt like an anchor was dropped into his stomach and could only kneel on the floor of the training, staring blankly at the petals, frozen in place. Seconds dragged by, agonizing in this condemning moment. The only thing that got him back up on his feet and out the door was the dragon breathing out three incredulous words: “It is me.”

Ten days passed by without incident. Anticipation set Jesse on edge as he made his way through the base. He had successfully avoided Hanzo Shimada since the fateful day where his secret was revealed. He was almost at his destination until a solid, abrasive call of his name stopped the cowboy in his tracks, the startle of it crashing through him like lightning. He turned reluctantly, shoulders stiff and jaw clenched.

Simultaneously the first and last person he wants to see. 

“You are a surprisingly difficult man to find. I never thought someone as ostentatious as you would be so hard to track down.”

“Blackwatch trains their operatives well,” Jesse drawls out, “Ain’t gonna be found unless I wanna be. Or unless a handsome ninja comes lookin’.” Jesse winked and Hanzo smirked, both happy that their friendly banter was able to continue.

The conversation lulled, collapsing hazardously into uncomfortable silence. Jesse struggled to find something, anything, to talk about. Anything to prevent that humorous glint in Hanzo’s eyes from fading.

“I cannot return the sentiment.”

He resisted the urge to cough. “I know.”

They stood opposite each other, soundless among the pouring rain. Raindrops fell dutifully to the ground. Jesse wanted to break the silence, but uttering the other's name like a prayer would only break the soft reverie they found themselves in.

Time started to slip away, faster and farther, until the other broke the silence. "Jesse," he says, slightly breathless. "You are sick."

His voice was weighed down with something that Jesse could not name. Instead of trying to place the reason, he simply nodded.

"For how long? There is only so much time that can pass before your body succumbs to this disease. Why are you not attempting to remedy this?"

Hanzo bristled. His tone was firm, commanding sternly. “Jesse, you must fix this. It will not go away on its own.” 

At first, Jesse didn't look at him, choosing instead to look at the ground. When he gathered the courage to start saying something, Hanzo interrupted him. “Do not try to defend your actions. I will not understand.” 

Jesse finally looked at him, the same resolve he felt reflected back at him in the other’s face. Neither were going to budge on this; it was a silent standoff, a wordless impasse. 

Jesse felt two warring desires both trying to pull him in a different direction. A longing to make him understand, and a longing to push him away.

"Why are you doing this? Do not say it is for my sake."

"I ain't destroying myself 'cause I thought it'd make you do anything. I'm doing it because if I get rid of it, that'll kill my feelings. I have to choose which parts of myself to destroy."

"So you choose to sacrifice your life?" Hanzo turned away, spitting out a single word: "Foolish.”

“So what if it is.”

“I will not have this."

"It ain't your choice!"

Bitter seconds passed by in mutual frustration before Hanzo spoke again.

"You cannot do this for me."

"Mighty ignorant of you to assume I'm doing this for you."

Hanzo turned back to face him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a dragon's silent demand for explanation.

"This is the first time in my life I've been able to choose. Every time I had love in my hands I've had it ripped away. Now I've got it again and I ain't sayin' it's gotta be reciprocated but I sure as hell can't let it go. This is my business. You can't tell me how to feel. I'm tired of letting it slip through my fingers."

"I will not have more blood on my hands!" Hanzo yelled, desperate and broken. The look in his eyes revealed that Hanzo had split himself open and revealed something not meant for anyone else's ears. He had blurted out a secret that had left him hollowed out and raw. When Hanzo spoke again, his voice was low.

"You will not continue to let yourself waste away. You are sick, and obstinacy will not save you."

"I ain't looking to be saved. Not looking for attention, or reciprocation, or anything from anyone else. I'm doing this because it's _mine_ and no one can tell me how to feel, even if it kills me.”

Hanzo’s lips curled into a scowl. "You will die unloved and alone because you want to be a rebel, is that what I am hearing?"

Jesse’s silence was damning.

It was Hanzo’s turn to walk away.

Jesse was fed up with all the words buzzing under his skin, judging him, making him restless. He needed to get away. He couldn’t breathe with a chorus of voices giving unsolicited advice ringing in his head. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to fade into oblivion with Hanzo never knowing.

Jesse packed his bags in the dead of night, set to take off for the desert, which to him had always felt like home. He wandered about the base before he decided to leave, appreciating the melancholy silence that hung over the base like a blanket. Peaceful. 

Until a thought stopped him dead in his tracks. Here he was, running away when no one was around to stop him, going AWOL to get away from the stress and chorus of voices all overlapping and combative , just like he did when the in-fighting between Blackwatch and Overwatch was coming to a head.

He left then and he’s leaving now the same way. Sneaking away like a dog with his tail between his legs. In all the years that have passed, he thought to himself, “you never stopped being a coward.”

When he arrived in New Mexico, the heated air hits him, finally undoing the tension he felt all over.

Everything hit him now. The severity of the situation, the fact that he truly won’t get better unless he chooses surgery, the fact that he’s being _so incredibly stupid_ , as well as the fact that if he had time to choose it all over again, he would do the same thing. All of these facts swirl inside his chest. The waves of emotion pull back, and crash against his fragile heart.

His heart broke slowly, slowly, like glass cracks spidering out from the center. When it finally shattered, he wanted to cry out, the sharp pain in his chest building to an unbearable level. He tried to scream, but coughed and hacked up petals, spattering the gritty sand below him with thick, hot blood. His lungs burned like hellfire.

Jesse McCree did not die dramatically. There wasn’t anyone around to witness his end. There were no tears, no great monologue, no last-minute confession, no swan song. He never got the redemption he wanted; he died the same old sinner that he’d always been.

He collapsed, choking, unable to summon enough breath to cough. Petals bent in toward themselves in his throat, their soft and comforting texture feeling like knives inside him. He collapsed on a backdrop of blue flowers, clutching his hat to his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm, uh, working through some things. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I swear that I do have fics planned where nobody dies, but considering how long it took me to finish this one, they probably won't come out for a while. But trust me, this next project will be a lot more upbeat and dramatic. And everyone will live. I promise.


End file.
